


Gilded

by RishiDiams



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 10,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RishiDiams/pseuds/RishiDiams
Summary: Lady Rose's mother accepts a marriage proposal on her behalf.
Relationships: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Rose Tyler/Original Character
Comments: 102
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Way back in the long ago I was working on several Rose-as-a-Queen prompts. This one has been languishing for several years, but for some reason yesterday my muse piped up and I spent all last night and most of today finishing it. The chapters are very short, but I'll be posting them frequently.

Those who spoke of Lady Rose often mentioned her beauty, her kindness, her compassion. When they were being kind they also called her a free spirit. When they were not they used much different words. 

‘Selfish’ was one of them. 

House Powell had always been a lesser House, respected and respectable, but never known for its military might or political influence. Things had taken a turn for the worse after the death of Lord Peter, Rose's father, three years earlier. Her baby brother, only five years old, was Lord Powell now, and considering the family's failing fortunes Rose knew that she should have already accepted an offer for her hand. But, like most young women, she hoped to marry for love. 

An unrealistic expectation, to be sure, especially with her decided lack of suitors. Adam, the oldest son of Powell's more prosperous neighbor, was widely regarded as her most likely match, but the mere thought of him made Rose roll her eyes in disgust, as he frequently talked down to her and turned his nose up at her plain dresses. Instead, much to her mother's dismay, Rose spent most of her time with Michael, the carriage builder, who, despite the differences in their stations, was her dearest friend. 

That all changed the spring of her nineteenth year when she returned from one of her walks to see a strange coach in the drive. From his seat atop the fine vehicle, the coachman nodded as she passed, so she dared not linger to inspect the gilt edged paint and heavy brocade curtains. 

As soon as she stepped into the house, her mother flew out of the parlor to stop her from going any further. 

"Go upstairs and freshen up. Your maid has put out your best dress." 

"What's going on?" 

"Now! No questions," she replied, pushing Rose in the direction of the stairs. 

Confused, but driven by her curiosity and years of familiarity with her mother's unbending will, Rose hurried upstairs to her room. After the fastest bath of her life and what seemed like only a moment at her vanity while her maid twisted her hair into some semblance of fashion, Rose returned to the parlor door. 

"Good luck, Lady Rose," the footman whispered as he opened the door, giving her no time at all to reflect on his words. 

"Here she is," her mother proclaimed as though she hadn't seen her but a few moments previous. She stood, as did the man sitting opposite her. 

His hair was white and his stomach so bloated it looked like he had somehow managed to eat every meal Rose had been forced to miss over the last three years, but he wore a uniform nicer than anything she'd ever seen up close before. 

"My daughter, Lady Rose." 

Rose curtsied because the look in her mother's eyes reminded her of the first time she'd met Adam's parents and the scolding she'd received afterward about proper etiquette. Her mother gave a tiny nod of approval, but seemed to be holding her breath. After a moment, the stranger nodded as well before sticking his hand into his doublet to retrieve a packet of vellum. 

"Two weeks, Lady Powell," he said as he placed it in her hand. 

"Yes, my lord." She curtsied, her hands clasped so tightly around the paper that it crinkled. 

Then, with barely a blink in Rose's direction, he left the room and the house. Her mother waited until they heard the crunch of the coach's wheels on the drive before untying the documents. 

"Mum, what was that about?" 

But her attention was riveted by whatever she was reading. 

"Mum?" 

"Yes, right." She closed the packet again. "I've accepted an offer for your hand." 

"You what?" Then an even worse prospect occurred to her. "Not him!" 

Her mum tsked. "Don't be silly. Didn't you recognize him?" At Rose's blank expression she tsked again. "That was the royal steward. The offer is from the King, Rose. The _King_. You literally could not have made a better match in the entire country. It will be the social coup of the century. My daughter, a queen."


	2. Chapter 2

The next two weeks passed in a whirlwind of activity. There were dresses to be ordered, dances to learn, etiquette to perfect. As soon as the formal engagement announcement was made, it would matter to the entire country whether she acknowledged people like Adam's parents, and how. But Rose moved through it all as though in a trance. The castle was two days away by carriage, and Powell was the only home she'd ever known, but she could not even steal a few moments to memorize the beloved fields and paths where she'd spent her youth. There was no argument she could make, no tantrum she could throw to stop this from happening. The contract was signed and in her mother's possession, the bride price had been paid - and much of it spent. 

The moment she'd been dreading arrived with a brief rap upon the front door. 

However, it was not her bridegroom come to fetch her, but a contingent of soldiers. As their commander stepped into the parlor, he smiled at her with kind blue eyes which lingered on her for a moment before he turned his attention to her mother. Rose guessed his age at close to her parents', but he'd done a far better job of retaining his hair than her father had. It was dark and cut close to his head, which had the unfortunate effect of emphasizing his over-large ears. 

"Lady Powell," he bowed sharply. "John Smith, Captain of the King's Guard." 

Her mother curtsied. "Captain Smith. My daughter, Lady Rose." 

Rose curtsied as well, and when she raised her head to look at the Captain she was surprised to see the tips of his ears had turned pink. She glanced at her mother out of the corner of her eye, but there was nothing in her expression to indicate she thought anything was amiss. 

Captain Smith set his jaw. Then, with his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. 

She gasped. _Oh_. Her face flaming, she looked to her mother in a desperate plea for help but received only a vague hand wave in response. "Um. Rise?" 

His lips twitched when he stood again, but what could have easily been insulting was tempered by the kindness in his gaze. "My lady, we are ready to leave at your command." 

"My luggage?" 

"We have a wagon for your trunks." 

Lady Powell gestured at the footman standing beside the parlor door, who turned and left the room. "Captain Smith," she said with a smile, "would you care for some tea while we wait?" 

Because no amount of education could substitute for a lifetime of experience, Rose spent the last fifteen minutes of her life at Powell studying the man seated across from her: how he held his teacup in his long-fingered hands, his posture, the way he feigned politeness as her mother monopolized the conversation by peppering him with questions about the castle and life at court. 

When the footman returned to announce that her trunks had been loaded, Rose stood and hugged her mother goodbye. They would see each other again, briefly, at the wedding, but it made this parting no less momentous. Then she placed her hand on the back of Captain Smith's proffered one and allowed him to lead her out of the parlor. 

"I trust I meet your exacting standards, my lady," he muttered as soon as they were out of her mother's hearing. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"You were staring." He nodded behind them. "During tea." 

Her eyes widened as she gawped at him, unable to form a coherent excuse.

"Forgive my manners, my lady," he added upon seeing her distress. "It's not my place to question --" 

"Oh, no, no, you must forgive mine, Captain Smith. I meant no disrespect. I've lived my entire life here, and Powell is far removed from court life. I only hoped to learn by watching you." 

The tips of his ears turned pink again. "You'll have far better teachers than me once we reach the castle, my lady." 

They stepped outside into the blinding light of midday, and by the time her eyes adjusted, the soldiers milling around the courtyard had quieted and turned toward them. 

"The Lady Rose," Captain Smith announced, and as one the men sank to their knees. 

Rose held her breath as she looked out over them, trying to quell the rising panic in her breast. 

"They're waiting for you," he whispered when the moment stretched out. 

"I know," she hissed back. "Rise, gentlemen, and thank you." 

As the men righted themselves she turned to their captain. "Which horse is mine?" 

In answer, he guided her to a carriage where a footman stood holding open the door. 

Rose backed away. "Oh, no. I'm not going to be cooped up in that thing for the next two days, Captain Smith. I'm a perfectly proficient rider. Find me a horse." 

His hand opened and closed at his side. When he spoke his voice was pitched lower than usual. "My lady, it is not seemly." 

"I don't care. I want to ride." 

He set his jaw. "I'm afraid I must insist."


	3. Chapter 3

"Something wrong, my lady?" he asked her some hours later.

Rose dropped her head back onto the cushion. "I'm bored, Captain Smith. Nothing more. I'd be happier on a horse --" The stubborn look in his eyes returned before the word 'horse.' "-- but seeing as you won't allow that I'm left with very little to do." 

"You didn't..." He peered into the carriage where she sat alone and empty-handed, and his ears turned pink again. As much as she knew she shouldn't, Rose found his frequent discomfort charming. "My apologies, my lady, I wasn't thinking --" 

"It is not your fault, Captain Smith, it is mine. I was ill-prepared to be inside a carriage for the entire trip." 

His mouth worked silently for a moment and then his blush deepened as he opened the top two buttons of his doublet. "If you like..." He stuck his hand into the doublet and pulled out a book. 

Rose sat up and leaned closer to the window. "You don't mind?" 

In answer, he thrust the book toward her. 

"Thank you," she said as she took it, but the minute the book left his fingers, he urged his horse to speed up and pulled away from the carriage. 

Rose watched him go, smoothing her hand over the cover of the book, still warm from his body. It was a slim volume no bigger than the palm of her hand, and when she opened it she was surprised to see that it was a book of poetry. A neat hand had made notations throughout, an insight into the mind of a man who did not believe in the all-encompassing love that was the subject of so many of the poems. It saddened her to learn that any man believed thus; her parents' marriage might not have been inspiration for the bards, but they had loved deeply and fiercely until the moment of her father's death, and now, years later, her mother remained true to his memory. There was still a hope in her own heart, though tarnished, that she might one day grow to love her husband in the same way. 

She nearly had the book memorized - notations and all - by the time the sun had dipped far enough below the horizon to make reading impossible, and it was not long after that they stopped at an inn for the night. Captain Smith made all of the arrangements before she was even allowed to leave the carriage, only to be guided upstairs to her room by the innkeeper's wife and shut in for the night. The woman returned a few minutes later with a bowl of stew that smelled so much like home Rose could barely bring herself to eat it. 

Since there was nothing else to do after she finished eating, Rose removed her travel clothes and braided her hair for bed, but sleep eluded her. The sole window in the room overlooked the stableyard where some of the soldiers milled, the volume of their conversations occasionally increasing enough to reach her ears. She laughed quietly under her breath along with them as a soldier by the name of Rory was ribbed for missing his sweetheart, a girl named Amy, an amusement that was cut short when Captain Smith happened upon the men and reminded them that the innkeeper would not be best pleased if his patrons were kept up all night by their voices. He was walking away from the chastened men when he glanced up at her window. 

Rose pulled back, her cheeks burning, despite the fact that she wasn't even certain he could see her in the dark room. When she finally gathered the courage to look again, he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

"I trust the men were not too disruptive last night, my lady." 

Rose’s cheeks pinked at the reminder that he might have seen her eavesdropping on his soldiers. "I was not bothered by their talk." 

He smiled and handed her into the carriage. 

"Is this your book?" she asked before he could walk away, holding the book of poetry out the window. 

"It is, my lady." 

"And the notations, are they yours as well?" 

He paled and his jaw moved silently for a few seconds. "My apologies, my lady, if you were offended. They are the ramblings of a jaded young man. In truth, I'm so accustomed to seeing them that I'd entirely forgotten they were there." 

"And your feelings on the subject, Captain Smith, are they now different from that of the ‘jaded young man’?" 

The sunrise broke across the top of the carriage, setting his blue eyes alight. "They are, my lady." 

"I am glad to hear it, for I cannot imagine the hours I would have had to dedicate to changing your mind." 

It wasn't until they’d left the inn far behind them that Rose understood why he'd suddenly sputtered, his whole face red, before leaving her still holding his book. Though it was far too late to do anything about it, she hid her face in embarrassment anyway, and since he was nowhere to be seen when they arrived at the castle that evening, the apology she'd spent hours rehearsing would have to wait. 

A lovely older woman by the name of Sarah Jane met her before she left the carriage, and escorted her into the castle and to her chambers. There were easily a dozen women in the rooms, whose names she had no hope of remembering, who immediately set about making her presentable for His Majesty. 

Sarah Jane whispered instructions into her ear until the moment they entered the audience chambers. 

"Lady Rose Tyler of Powell," called the man stationed at the door. 

Rose walked across the room to the throne and sank into the deepest curtsy she could gracefully manage. Long seconds passed while the King continued to speak with his advisor until a third voice joined the conversation briefly, his tone urgent but his voice pitched so low she couldn't make out the words. 

"Oh..." she heard. "Yes, of course." 

A second later, a pair of feet appeared in her sight. Then, a hand cupped her chin and lifted her face. 

He was handsome, the King, hair the color of wheat above dark eyes, and lips that looked delightfully kissable -- or possibly that was the poetry talking. He smiled kindly at her and offered his hand. 

When she stood he kissed her knuckles. "Lovely to meet you, my dear. I'm afraid, however, that pressing matters of state must be attended to immediately or I would gladly whisk you off. I will try to make time for you before the wedding." 

Without even giving her time to reply, he turned back to his advisors. 

"Come, Lady Rose," said a voice at her elbow, and she turned to see Sarah Jane looking up at her expectantly, "let's get you settled in."


	5. Chapter 5

There was no settling in to do. During her brief absence to meet her fiancé, her trunks had been emptied and her possessions put away. The only thing she could do was stand still before the mirror as her ladies in waiting buzzed around her to remove the dress she'd worn for a mere 20 minutes.

"Your lessons begin tomorrow, my lady," Sarah Jane said as she shooed the ladies out of the chambers. "Rest well."

Though her bed was the most comfortable she'd ever experienced, soft and sweet-smelling, Rose soon found that resting at all was an impossibility, and she greeted her teacher the next morning bleary-eyed and yawning. Though Sarah Jane was kind, Rose quickly discovered that the woman was a taskmaster like no other. If Rose had thought her mother's lessons were arduous but thorough, she was sadly mistaken, and the weeks passed in a blur of exhaustion.

Between their busy schedules, the King's promise that they would spend time together never amounted to anything more than a rare glimpse of him in the hallways, so Rose arrived at the altar without having spoken a single word to him. 

What she had thought would be a comfort, having her mother with her in the days leading up to the ceremony, had done little to soothe her nerves. In fact, Lady Powell's attempts to explain what Rose should expect from her bridegroom on her wedding night had her nervously pacing the bridal chamber while she awaited him, the ladies who had undressed her to her shift long gone.

Finally, the door opened and her husband stumbled in. She curtseyed, ever mindful of Sarah Jane's teachings. It wasn't until he stepped closer and bade her to stand that she heard the slur of his words and smelled the wine on him. He'd spent more time than her in the Great Hall celebrating, she realized as he silently guided her to the bed. Of course his friends would want to celebrate his marriage with him.

From the first touch of his hand on her ankle until it was over and he'd left the room, only minutes passed. And when he was gone, Rose lowered her shift and curled into a tight ball.


	6. Chapter 6

In the morning, she squared her shoulders and presented herself as a queen. A quiet breakfast with her mother was her only concession to her former life, and she saw the older woman into a carriage around midday with nary a tear in her eye. Then, alone save for the ally of Sarah Jane, Rose began navigating her new life.

That night she saw her husband again when he entered her chambers as her ladies were preparing her for bed. With a wave of his hand he ordered the room cleared, and they scattered, giggling behind their hands like girls. Minutes later he left her alone again to muse that if he'd not heard her speak at the wedding, he would think her mute.

As the weeks passed, he made no effort to befriend her or include her on his frequent hunting trips. Instead, she found herself constantly surrounded by courtiers whose affections were so thin she could see right through them, who showered her with gifts in order to win favor. She smiled at them as Sarah Jane had taught her and gave them thanks, careful not to elevate any one above the others, as she listened to the gossip of the servants. The courtiers thought her simple, a country noble who had caught the King's eye.

But she was neither stupid nor mute, just a girl who had given up her childish dreams for a gilded cage.

On the morning her courses arrived, Rose dressed in a riding habit and walked down to the stables. The stable boys were understandably surprised to see her, but they saddled a mare for her quickly enough. She’d just lifted her foot from the mounting block when she heard the heavy sound of hurried footfalls coming up from behind her.

"My queen,” Captain Smith said as he caught up to her and reached out, grabbing the horse's bridle.

"Is there something you needed, Captain Smith?"

"I wasn't informed you planned to ride. If you'll give me a moment I'll gather a few guards to go with you."

"That's not necessary. I don't intend to go far."

"It will only take a moment."

Rose sighed but watched as he appointed men to join her. They waited, together but apart, for several minutes as horses were prepared and mounted, until one stable boy approached them holding the reins of a fine destrier. She didn't have to ask, knew by the smile on Captain Smith's face that the proud stallion was his own.

He thanked the boy and swung up into the saddle. Then, after a brief survey of the dozen men surrounding them, he turned to her. "After you, my queen."

She railed against the sedate pace their presence forced her to maintain, the fire in her blood not nearly satisfied. After an hour, Captain Smith kicked his horse and drew level with her.

"Are you ready to return, my queen?"

Rose looked out over the vast plains she had yet to explore and sighed. "Yes, Captain Smith."


	7. Chapter 7

One month turned into two. There was nothing for her at court, she knew that now. Her 'husband' wanted nothing to do with her; even the few minutes he had spared her in the beginning had never been repeated. And the courtiers saw nothing but the crown upon her head. She was alone, surrounded by strangers.

The only joy she had came from her daily rides, and the stable boys were no longer surprised by her appearance in their domain. And every day, without fail, she was stopped - at the gate if not before - until Captain Smith could be summoned and an escort could be arranged. Until one day she grew tired of it.

"Captain Smith, it is incredibly difficult - nay, impossible even - to get away from everything when one is pursued by a dozen castle guards. If it eases your conscience, I will stay within sight of the castle, but I insist you end this."

The hand he'd rested on her horse's bridle gentled. "Would you consent to two guards, my queen? Please. For your safety."

"You're going to be stubborn about this, aren't you?"

He smiled up at her. "Yes, my queen."

"Very well, then. Two."

"Thank you." He turned and whistled, and when a stable boy came running he whispered instructions in the boy's ear.

A short while later, the boy returned leading Captain Smith's destrier, another boy behind him leading another. Captain Smith gestured at one of the guards and once the two men were mounted, the gate was finally opened.

As soon as she was through, Rose spurred on her mare, silently daring her unwanted companions to catch her. It was an empty gesture, she knew; no matter how swift her horse was or how proficient a rider she was, there was no way she could outrun the Captain of the King's guard. For hours they let her stay ahead of them, across plains and along the tree line of the forest, until she slowed on her own.

Only then did he approach her.

"My queen --"

"No, I am not yet ready to return, Captain Smith."

He gestured with the waterskin in his hand. "Would you like some water?"

Rose dropped her accusing gaze, shame burning her cheeks. "Thank you." 

He waited while she drank, taking the skin from her when she was done. 

"I am sorry for my harsh words,” she said, “they were uncalled for."

"I took no offense. We will be ready to return when you are."

"And if I told you -- ordered you to leave me now and return to the castle?"

He hesitated, obviously choosing his words carefully. "Your safety is one of my highest priorities. I could not, in good conscience, leave you unattended."

She pursed her lips. "Of course not."

With a click of her tongue, Rose urged her mare away from him.


	8. Chapter 8

Winter arrived with a vengeance, at first confining her to the castle for days at a time and then quickly making even the shortest venture out of the walls an impossibility. Her one consolation was that her husband and many of his friends had been away hunting when the bad weather struck, and would likely be confined to his lodge until the roads dried again in spring.

The castle was never empty, but it was the closest she’d ever seen it, with him gone and all of the courtiers returned to their homes. Though Sarah Jane protested, Rose insisted on wearing plainer dresses, arguing that there was no one around to impress. Of course, even the simplest of them could have fed her family for days, but they were a far cry from the finery she was normally required to wear.

“My queen.”

She put down the playing cards she held and looked up at the man striding towards her. “Good morning, Captain Smith. I trust all is well?”

He sketched a small bow. “Yes, my queen.”

“I know the King is away, but is there some report you need to make? I would gladly listen.”

His expression softened the slightest bit. “There is very little to tell, my queen. The men practice more to stay warm than out of any great need, and --”

“Captain Smith --”

“My apologies, my queen. I shouldn’t bore you with --”

“No, it’s not that.” She gestured at the chair opposite her. “Please sit.”

This time it wasn’t only his ears which pinked, and when he finally folded himself into the chair, he was still hardly able to look her in the eyes.

He began to speak, talking about the difficulties of keeping the horses exercised with only the bailey in which to move them, his voice only stuttering once when she picked up the cards again, shuffled them briefly, and dealt each of them three.

“My queen?”

“You do know how to play One-and-Thirty, don’t you?”

“I -- yes, my queen.”

“Excellent.” 

She peeked at her cards and waited expectantly until he did so as well. He nodded when she lifted the next card on the deck, and she placed it down in front of him.

“You can continue,” she encouraged as she dealt herself another card as well.

He cleared his throat, his eyes sliding closed for a moment before he began speaking again. Rose offered him another card but he declined with a shake of his head, one eyebrow rising when she took one on her turn.

“Two and thirty,” she complained when she saw the card. “And yours?”

She counted silently as he turned over each of his cards. With her going out it didn’t matter what total he had, but she’d always enjoyed counting up all of the players’ pips regardless.

“Thirty! Very good, Captain Smith. You win. How are the new squires?” she asked as she shuffled the cards and dealt again.


	9. Chapter 9

The next week he found her once again seated alone in the parlor, a deck of cards in her hands. And by the third week, she hardly had to encourage him at all to sit and give his report. 

“One of the squires, a boy from much farther south, is feeling homesick. It’s the snow. He’s not used to it staying around so long - or there being so much of it.”

While her heart went out to the boy, her thoughts turned to the man sitting opposite her. Where was he from? Did the snow bother him or had he gotten used to it in the years he’d been in the Guard? Though she’d been living at the castle for slightly more than four months, she knew little more of him than his name.

“Where are you from, Captain Smith?”

He didn’t answer at first, and when his fingers slowly curled against the table beside his cards, short, neat fingernails scraping lightly over the wood, Rose realized the question might not be exactly welcome.

“A village near here,” he answered before she could retract it. “Nowhere special.”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking. I don’t mean to pry where I’m not welcome.”

He accepted another card when she offered, and Rose got the distinct impression he spent longer counting up his pips than was necessary in order to fashion a response. Then, “I don’t mind. You can ask me anything.”

“If you’re sure?”

He nodded.

“Is your family still there? Your parents? Brothers and sisters?”

“I was an only child, my queen, and my parents are long gone. I have lived here, in the castle barracks, for most of my life.”

“And your wife? Where is she?” Her stomach suddenly churning, Rose took another card for herself, even though with her total already at eight and twenty it was hardly advisable. She didn’t know why the question bothered her so much, it was perfectly reasonable. Flipping up the card, she looked at it. An eight. Unsurprised, she started revealing her cards.

“Six and thirty,” she announced flatly.

When she looked up again he was staring at her, his eyes vulnerable. 

“I am not married, my queen,” he said softly.

“Not married? Surely you have a sweetheart.”

“No.”

There was something about the way he looked at her that made her cheeks burn, and she couldn’t find her voice to ask him anything further. After a moment, he began flipping over his cards. 

“Four and twenty.”

Sliding her hand across the table, she gathered up his cards.

“Give the squires some leisure time. It might help the boy if he and his friends are allowed to enjoy the snow.”

“Yes, my queen.”


	10. Chapter 10

Several weeks passed where she only saw him in passing or caught glimpses of him in the bailey with the men. It wasn’t until she heard his footfalls coming up behind her that she realized how much she’d missed his presence during that time. If asked, she would have hesitated to call him a friend, because she’d had real friends before, and the playful, teasing dynamic she and Michael had shared was nothing like the quiet reservation that seemed to accompany every interaction she had with Captain Smith. But he was kind and the one truly friend _ly_ face she ever saw anymore.

Turning around, her breath caught at the sight of him a few paces behind her, but it wasn’t from fear. As he bowed, her eyes followed the line of his broad shoulders beneath his doublet, and her heart began to beat at a pace that was unfamiliar to her. In the time it took her to put name to what had caused her reaction, he straightened, pinning her in place with his gaze.

“My queen.”

“Good evening, Captain Smith,” she replied, willing her voice steady and her cheeks free of color.

“Are you not enjoying the play?”

She was standing behind and off to the side of her chair, grateful that everyone’s attention was on the mummers’ play taking place in the middle of the room and not on her. She'd stayed seated for the opening, but had felt the need to stand almost immediately after.

“It's lovely.”

He stood beside her in silence for several minutes as they watched the actors strutting around.

“I -- I have a gift for you.” Though his words were subdued, there was a nervous energy about him which drew her closer.

“A gift?” The New Year’s gift exchange was still several days away.

“It’s not much…” he added as he opened his doublet and put his hand inside. What he pulled out fit in his hand, but wasn’t another book.

He handed it to her and she saw that it was a carved wolf, approximately the length of her hand, the detail exquisite, fur distinct and rough to the touch, face relaxed with only a hint of teeth showing, eyes intelligent and cunning.

The way his eyes never left her face as she examined it could only mean one thing.

“You made this?”

He nodded.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, turning it over to look at it from every angle. 

He looked over her shoulder instead of at her face, the grin threatening his lips at war with the blush creeping up his neck. "You are too kind." 

"No, really. This is master work, Captain Smith. I almost feel guilty accepting it." 

The grin faltered as he turned his face even farther away. "It was not my intention to cause you distress." 

"No distress, only a deep sadness that you will not be properly compensated for such incredible work. You have a gift." 

"That you like it is the only compensation I require." 

"I do," she replied, closing her hands around it. "Truly."

One awkward moment passed and then another before he bowed again and hurried off. Once he was gone, Rose opened her hand to look at the wolf again. Bringing it up to her lips she pressed a soft kiss into its side.


	11. Chapter 11

He surprised her again by appearing in the procession of gift givers on New Year's morning, a book of poetry in his hands. 

“Thank you, my queen,” he said when one of her ladies in waiting put his gift, a custom saddle, in his hands. His thumb stroked along the leather as he bowed and then left her audience chambers so that another could take his place.

That night, curled in her bed, a single candle burning on her nightstand and the rest of her gifts forgotten, Rose opened the book and began reading. She couldn’t help when a passage caused her thoughts to drift to him, despite the fact that the margins were not filled with his neat handwriting, and when she finally closed her eyes to sleep, it was with a smile on her lips.

It was not to last. 

The king returned to the castle a few days after first thaw. He brought with him a cousin, Harold, whose oily mannerisms and assessing gaze made Rose’s skin crawl. 

That night, the first she had spent under the same roof as her husband in nearly five months, Rose trembled in her bed as she waited for him. But he did not visit her and in the morning she made her way to the stables as quickly as she was able.

It was no surprise when Captain Smith met her at the gate and delayed her long enough for two more horses to be summoned. Truly angry for the first time about her situation, Rose rode as though the demons of hell were nipping at her horse’s hooves. Only once she began to fear for the beast’s health did she finally slow. Practically throwing herself from the saddle in an attempt to dismount unaided, she continued on foot, leading her horse around so it could cool.

“My queen --”

“Go away, Captain Smith. That is an order.”

He stood almost close enough to touch, the waterskin in his hand, but something told her it was merely an excuse he used to approach her. Glancing over his shoulder to where the other guard waited several paces behind them, he dropped his voice. "My queen, I am not your enemy."

"No," she replied, focusing her gaze on the ears of her mare so she didn't have to look at him, "only an agent of my husband."

"An agent of the crown, yes. You wear one, too."

"Useless bit of tin, that."

"Upon the right brow a crown is never useless."

"My marriage is a lie, Captain Smith," she hissed, ignoring his quickly indrawn breath. “I’ve spent no more than a handful of minutes in my husband’s company since I arrived at the castle. I’ve spent more time with you than him. The crown may sit upon my brow, but I am no queen.”

“You are,” he insisted. “But it seems to me, my queen, that perhaps you are not a wife.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you familiar with my other works might be surprised this is the chapter which earns Gilded a T rating. I've been told I should warn that it's a strong T.

Much to her dismay, Harold showed no sign of wishing to return to his own home. In fact, he appeared to be making himself quite comfortable in the castle. Even further darkening her mood, with the return of the king came the return of the courtiers, many of whom made no secret of their surprise at finding her belly had not swollen with child over the winter months.

A month passed, and then another. Not once did her husband pay a visit to her chambers. Those wishing to curry favor spoke to her in hushed whispers of herbs and teas believed to increase her chances of falling pregnant, and Rose barely managed to hold her tongue about the futility of their suggestions. 

Even Harold invited himself into these conversations, informing her in no uncertain terms how much he would truly regret taking the throne if his cousin produced no issue. But he was unable to hide his excitement about the prospect and it glittered in his eyes.

Once enough time had passed that whispers began to circulate about Rose’s barrenness - HA! - she finally decided to take matters into her own hands. 

“Am I not the queen?” she insisted to the guard standing between her and her husband’s chamber doors.

It was late. Most of the residents of the castle had retired to their beds hours earlier. And here she was, in naught but her dressing gown, intent on seducing a babe out of her husband, but instead she found herself arguing with a boy barely old enough to shave. 

“Of course, your highness.”

“And is that not the king’s chambers behind you?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“And you dare keep me from them?”

“I -- your --” Futily, he looked around, but there was no one to help him. 

“Open the door,” she insisted, summoning the full power of the queen to bolster her words.

“Yes, your highness,” he sighed, moving to the side and pushing open the door.

The room she stepped into was twice the size of her own bedroom and lit by only a few candles near the bed. Shadows danced upon the three men there as they writhed together, the smallest of them screaming in pleasure as the man above him thrust mercilessly into his arse, and Rose recognized her husband’s voice.

Backing out again, she barely saw the pained expression on the guard’s face as she broke into a run, not stopping until she returned to her own chambers. Sobbing, she threw herself onto her bed and stayed there until dawn.

No, not a wife at all.


	13. Chapter 13

Torrential rains the next morning prevented Rose from the one escape she’d managed to carve for herself in this godforsaken place. Defiant and angry at the world, she cloistered herself in her chambers for the day. However, by the time the ground had dried enough for her to ride, the majority of her anger had bled away. She was still the queen and though she may never have a true marriage or children of her own, Captain Smith was right, she could still do a lot of good because of the crown she wore.

She met with teachers and architects, tradesmen, merchants, and the men who ran the orphanages. By the time she finally emerged, after nearly a month of meetings and planning, Rose felt _good_ about her marriage for the first time.

Humming a tune to herself, she returned to her chambers and sat at her dressing table. She was halfway through braiding her hair in a simple style when she looked into the mirror and saw Captain Smith standing at her chamber door. There was no mistaking the soft, besotted expression on his face as he watched her, and Rose was once again struck by feelings she’d pushed aside when her husband returned.

“Captain Smith,” she said, turning in her chair and watching as he struggled to compose himself.

“My queen.” He bowed, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning red. “I -- there have been many beautiful days. I began to worry you were unwell since you have not been riding. Your ladies said you were unavailable.”

“Did you know about my husband, Captain Smith? That he prefers the company of men?”

He sucked in a breath that was as much a confirmation as the one sharp nod he gave her. “There are several among the guards who do.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I had hoped he might change. For you.”

“You truly believed he might be so overcome by me as to abandon his ways?”

He shuffled his feet awkwardly then met her gaze, his eyes dark. “It would not be unheard of, my queen.”

Taking a chance to grasp happiness, hoping she was not misinterpreting, Rose stood and crossed the room. “And you, Captain Smith, it was you who suggested I am not a wife. What am I to you?”

"You are my queen." 

With an annoyed growl, she turned away from him. 

There was silence for a moment and then he released a long-suffering sigh.

"What would you have me say?" he asked, his voice tightly controlled and barely above a whisper. "I am bound to the King by vows in much the same way you are. Would you see me betray him and tempt you to do the same?" 

Rose lowered her head. "In my heart I have already betrayed him." She took a deep breath and was preparing to speak again when a calloused hand closed gently around hers. 

"I would have you be my lady," he said softly, his breath ghosting across her ear. 

"Please, John," she replied, matching his tone. 

He squeezed her hand before letting go and was almost out of the room before she even turned around. 

At dinner that night, when one of the queen’s ladies in waiting, a girl named Lucy, passed behind Harold's chair, she slowed long enough to whisper, "The queen and Smith are lovers."


	14. Chapter 14

The next afternoon, when she sat down at her secretary, a familiar slim volume of poetry lay atop the vellum. Sticking out of the top was a piece of ribbon, and when she opened the book to find the passage it marked, the pages fell open to it on their own.

> _I only know the grief that comes to me,  
>  _to my love-ridden heart, out of over-loving,  
>  _since my will is so firm and whole  
>  _that it never parted or grew distant from her  
>  _whom I craved at first sight, and afterwards._____

_  
___  


__In the margins, the writings of the jaded young man John had professed to once being, youthful doubts about the existence of such a pure and instant love, had been neatly scratched through._ _

__Her breath shallow and eyes stinging with tears, she read the passage a second time, her finger sliding across the page to touch each word as she imagined he had done many times before. When she was done, she took the ribbon and braided it into her hair so he might see for himself that she had accepted his gift._ _

__Flipping through the book, she found another poem and noted the page number. Butterflies alternated between tumbling and soaring in her stomach until after dinner when she was finally able to pass him in a mostly deserted corridor._ _

__She handed him the book as though her heart wasn’t pressed between the pages. Though they stood an arm’s length apart, his eyes lingered like a lover’s touch over the ribbon._ _

__“Thank you for the loan of your book, Captain Smith. Having read it again, I must say page nine is clearly my favorite.”_ _

__“Page nine?” He thought hard for a moment then his lips curled up slightly. “An excellent choice, my lady.”_ _

__Rose’s mouth ran dry at those two simple words, at the longing infused within them. It wasn’t so different from the way he’d always called her ‘my queen,’ but the wall he had used her title to erect between them had crumbled._ _

__“Good night, Captain Smith.”_ _

__At his quiet ‘Good night,’ she turned and made her way back to her chambers, slowly turning the words of the two poems over in her head and the admissions within them.__

> ___My true love hath my heart and I have his,  
>  _By just exchange one for another given;  
>  _I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,  
>  _There never was a better bargain driven.  
>  _My true love has my heart and I have his.  
>  _His heart in me keeps him and me in one,  
>  _My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;  
>  _He loves my heart, for once it was his own,  
>  _I cherish his, because in me it bides._________ _ _

_____ _

_____Several minutes later, having prepared for bed and dismissed her ladies in waiting, Rose sat before the fire and thumbed through the book he’d given her at New Years, looking for another poem to send him._ _ _ _ _

_____He entered the room silently and was upon her before she knew she was no longer alone._ _ _ _ _

_____"My lady."_ _ _ _ _

_____Her breath caught and she scrambled to her feet._ _ _ _ _

_____He searched her face, tilted up to him, the turmoil inside him turning his eyes stormy. Then, so slowly he might not have been moving at all, he lowered his lips to hers. The first touch sent tingles down her spine, then as he increased the pressure, Rose’s body heated so completely she feared for a moment she might have backed into the fire._ _ _ _ _

_____“Stay,” she whispered when he rested his forehead against hers._ _ _ _ _

_____"I cannot. I would not dishonor you so, though my heart aches for want of having you for my own.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“I am yours, John. Completely.”_ _ _ _ _

_____But the sadness which filled his eyes told the truth neither of them wished to admit._ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poems are:  
> I only know the grief that comes to me  
>  -Arnaut Daniel
> 
> and
> 
> My true love hath my heart and I have his.  
>  -Sir Phillip Sidney


	15. Chapter 15

Was this to be her life now, torn between the man she loved and the king she had married? 

From her husband she received nothing, not even a kind word or the touch of a hand. But suddenly from John there were tiny gifts bestowed upon her every day, each one not precious because it bore jewels or was made of gold, but because he had chosen them and left them for her. A flower from the garden, newly blossomed and sweet-smelling, one day, a comb the next, carved with such skill she knew it was his own work, a new book the day after that, several poems inside carefully marked. 

Too afraid of their passions overflowing, they were careful never to be alone; their love affair played out in gentle brushes of skin as they passed in the halls and heated looks from across the room. Rose had returned to the stables, her daily rides now stolen moments where fewer eyes could see them. 

And, oh, the things she learned of him during those rides. Starved for a true human connection, she soaked up even the tiniest details of his life. The son of a master carpenter, he’d learned his father’s trade from the moment he’d been able to hold a knife. He’d joined the guards intending to only stay a year, but when both of his parents died suddenly while he was away, he couldn’t find it within himself to return to their empty house. The guard had become his family and he had risen quickly through the ranks. He’d been content with his life until he met her.

Rose, however, was content for the first time in her life. She had nearly everything she’d always wanted, and if she could not give John her body, at least she could give him her love.

If the guard who accompanied them every day noticed anything odd about his Captain riding close to the queen, their quiet conversation not carrying to his ears, he said nothing.

The cry went up minutes after sunrise one morning. The king was dead. Murdered, the dagger used for the vile deed found beside the body in a pool of the king’s blood. It was a common dagger, easily recognized, since many of the guards carried one just like it.

With the castle in turmoil, Harold stepped up as the dead king’s heir. After gathering the residents of the castle in the great hall, he pointed his finger directly at the Captain of the Guard, and said only one word, “Murderer.”

Rose gasped as the guards surrounded John, whispers erupting around the room when he did nothing to resist or proclaim his innocence as his brothers in arms forced him to his knees. Throughout it all, his gaze never left her, the depth of his love shining through countless other emotions which must be assailing him. And, as they dragged him from the room, Rose began to wonder if he loved her so fiercely that he’d killed her husband to be with her.


	16. Chapter 16

It took mere days for Rose to regret doubting him. John was too pure of heart, too honorable to do such a thing, no matter how much it would have benefited him. She made arrangements to go down to the cells below the castle and arrived ‘conveniently’ at the changing of the guard.

He scrambled to stand at the bars when he saw the face of his visitor. “My lady, you should not be here.”

“I should have come sooner, but I doubted you, John, to my eternal shame. Now I know in my heart you are innocent. Therefore it is only right that I be here.” From a pocket of her dress, she removed a key and slid it silently into the lock. The click echoed throughout the room and they both stiffened, but when no one came running, Rose pulled the door open. “Leave. Hide yourself away. Even if I cannot find you, so long as you are alive I will be happy.”

John studied her face for a moment then closed the door between them again. "I betrayed him as surely as if I had been the one to wield the blade. I betrayed him the first time I laid eyes upon you." 

"But you are not guilty of his murder! I cannot let you die for something you did not do." 

"Maybe if I had not been so distracted I could have prevented this." 

"There is no way to know that." 

His hand passed between the bars to cup her cheek and she covered it with her own. 

"I am not sorry he is gone," she whispered into his palm. 

"Do not say such things, my lady." 

"Why shouldn't I? It's true." 

"Because if someone hears you they'll think you guilty as well. Let me stand accused alone." 

Rose sniffled, but nodded her agreement. "I do not know if I will be able to visit you again." 

"I understand. Do not risk yourself unnecessarily for me." 

"I -- I love you." 

His expression turned tender. "And I you, my lady." 

Rose lingered as long as she could to memorize the face of her lover. She would, of course, be at the trial, but that was no way to remember him. Neither was this; she would much rather remember him atop his fine destrier, sunlight gracing his strong features, but she would take what she could.

John’s second in command had asked for time to investigate, but Rose had heard nothing. Surely if another person had been accused, John would have been set free or, at the very least, his cell wouldn’t be the only one occupied.


	17. Chapter 17

“You understand what you stand accused of, Mr. Smith?”

“I do, sir.”

“Proceed.”

Harold had insisted they bring in a local sheriff to hear the evidence against John. In _fairness_ he’d said, since as the uncrowned king, he was too close to his beloved cousin’s death to preside over the trial of his accused murderer. And so, a special tourn had been called.

“Do you recognize this dagger, Mr. Smith?” the lawyer asked.

“I do.”

“How do you know it?”

“I saw it lying beside the king’s body on the morning he was murdered.”

“Is that the only way it is familiar to you?”

“No. Many of the guards carry one exactly like it.”

“In fact, you carry one exactly like it, too, do you not?”

“I do.”

“Where is your dagger now, Mr. Smith?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have it on me that morning and I’ve been in a cell for the last month.”

“If I told you that a thorough search had been made of your belongings and your dagger was not found, would that surprise you?”

A low murmur of conversation started up in the back of the room. Near where John sat, the twelve free men who had been chosen to make up the jury exchanged glances.

“It would, yes.”

“Where were you the morning our king was found murdered?”

“I had just completed my morning rounds.”

“Was it common for you to meet with the king to discuss matters of castle security?”

“It was.”

“And when would you typically do this?”

From her seat at the front of the audience, dressed in the unrelieved black of a widow because it was expected of her, Rose saw John’s jaw work silently for a moment.

“In the morning, usually shortly after my rounds had been completed.”

The murmur in the back of the room grew louder.

“No further questions. I’d like to call Lucy Cole.”

Brow furrowed in confusion, Rose watched her lady-in-waiting walk to the front of the room. 

“State your name, please.”

“Lucy Cole, sir.”

“What is your position at the castle, Miss Cole?”

“I am one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, sir.”

“And what evidence do you have to present for us?”

“I saw them, sir, together.”

“Who did you see?”

“Captain - that is, Mr. Smith - and milady the queen.”

Rose felt faint as the blood fled from her face. Surely no. They’d been so careful. She didn’t dare look over at John for what the sheriff or the jury might see in her expression.

“In her chambers,” Lucy was saying. Then she dropped her voice, “Alone.”

“Surely he was merely checking on her wellbeing, yes? Doing his job?” the lawyer suggested, though it was obvious not even he believed his words.

“No, sir. Mr. Smith said he wanted her to be his lady.”

“And the queen was appalled at this suggestion, as she should have been, yes?”

“No, sir. She said ‘please’.”

The murmur had become a roar so loud the sheriff banged on the desk in front of him. “Quiet!”

“Is that all you have to share with us today, Miss Cole?”

“No, sir. A few weeks later I saw them kissing.”

By comparison, the testimony of the guard who had ridden with them every day for a month before the murder was mild. The worst of the damage had already been done.


	18. Chapter 18

“State your name and your occupation, please.”

“Jack Harkness. I am the acting Captain of the Guard. Previously I served as John Smith’s second in command.”

“You know Mr. Smith well?”

“I do.”

“Do you consider him a friend?”

“I do, yes.”

“What evidence do you have to present today?”

“After John was taken into custody I began an investigation into the murder. It didn’t feel right. I’ve known him for many years and --”

“Just present your evidence, please, Captain Harkness, unless you’re only here to swear an oath on behalf of your friend?”

“No. No.” Captain Harkness straightened his shoulders. “Most people who come upon a dead body with a dagger nearby wouldn’t think to look any deeper into the cause of death. Why would they? But someone who did look deeper would see the purpling around the site of the wound and only a rare few would see that purpling and not dismiss it as bruising.”

“What are you suggesting, Captain Harkness?”

“Poison.”

The audience exploded with sound. It took the sheriff several minutes to calm everyone down again.

“You’re saying Mr. Smith stabbed the king with a _poisoned_ dagger?”

“I said nothing about Mr. Smith. The poison used was monkshood. It doesn’t grow around here, but it does grow in the mountains to our north.”

“And how would Mr. Smith have acquired such a thing?”

“He didn’t. John hasn’t left the castle since he brought the queen here before the wedding. But I did find it very interesting that Lord Saxon lives just at the base of Mount Perdition, so I asked one of the guards to search his rooms at a time I knew he wouldn’t be there.” He smirked as he waved someone forward from the back of the room. “Well, did you find anything?”

“You were right, sir. It wasn’t even hidden that well.” He held up a small bottle of dark purple liquid. 

Before Harold could even move, the guards surrounding him - presumably for his protection - had drawn their swords, holding him in place.

Rose jumped from her seat, caring nothing for Harold and what might become of him or the sheriff trying in vain to restore order to the room. She was standing right there when Captain Harkness approached his former captain and unlocked his manacles. As the heavy metal fell to the floor, she threw herself into his arms, finally unable to control her sobs.

"My lady, you mustn't," he muttered, looking around the room. 

"Oh, do be quiet, John. I love you and he is dead and you are innocent.” 

With one more glance around the room, John lowered his head to rest on hers and tightened his arms around her.


	19. Chapter 19

With Harold Saxon out of the line of succession, the crown fell to another of the king's cousins, an elderly duke who had never expected to inherit, what with two able-bodied young men ahead of him. 

Rose attended his coronation, still in her mourning blacks, and knelt before her new king when the crown was placed upon his head. Beside her, John cringed at every curious glance directed their way and clenched his fists for want of holding her. His attendance was largely a kindness to her, since he'd officially resigned his post the day after his trial had ended. 

They'd had no time together since that day, each burdened with the task of separating themselves from the trappings of their previous life. Rose had sold all of her court dresses and the frivolous gifts she had received from courtiers during her brief reign. The day after the coronation when she climbed aboard the simple wagon John had procured for their journey, she did so a very wealthy woman, with only one trunk to her name, containing the dresses she'd arrived with, a few books, a carved comb, and one carved wolf. 

Ultimately, the duke's reign was short; six months after his coronation the stress of ruling a country taxed his poor heart to the breaking point and his son became king, finally leading the country into a quiet, peaceful time. 

Rose spent the day of that coronation like she did any other; the wife of a master carpenter hardly warranted an invitation, regardless of her husband's prodigious skill. And besides, at six months pregnant with her first child, the midwife would never sanction the two day journey to the capital. 

They'd settled in the shadow of Powell Manor, and shortly thereafter, when Lord Powell discovered his brother-in-law's skill at carving toy soldiers, he'd commissioned two complete warring armies. It was a project John took to enthusiastically, spending his evenings sitting opposite his wife before the fire, fashioning the wood while she sewed baby things for their child. On a good night he could complete two figures, much faster than Rose's average of one outfit every two days. 

Though a fine patron, Lord Powell was hardly John's only customer. As word of his skill made its way around the country, requests began pouring in, to the point where he was forced to take on not one but two apprentices to keep up with demand. Rose only smiled broadly and opened their home to the two boys, blushing furiously when John would catch her mothering one of them and his gaze would heat and fall to her steadily growing stomach. 

They welcomed a third boy to their home ten months after their marriage, a small squalling bundle with his father's hair and eyes and his mother's nose and chin. And though he had no vast lands or title to his name, he was the most beloved prince who ever lived.


End file.
